The Redux and I
by SimplySupreme
Summary: "I was given a second chance and the tools to make a difference. I had the power to impact this world in a big way, and I'd be damned if it wasn't in a good way. In the words of President Wilson, in order to shape the peace, one must first fight the war." Paperwork is mishandled, angels are reasonable middle-aged men, elves are introduced to psychology. Reincarnation? Bite me.
1. B1-Ch1: Bartholomew

_Yes, I am FINALLY returning to this fandom! It's been a while, I know, but I've matured as a writer and a person since my last jab at writing Inheritance, and I thought it fitting that I make a return to the fandom as a full-circle kind of thing. This fic is pretty fun, and not too horribly serious, but it's a more jaded look at the books, and it's something that I really enjoyed writing. Yes, it's been done before, but I think you'll all be pleasantly surprised at the direction I take this._

_Anywho, any and all reviews are TOTALLY welcome. Enjoy!_

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The Redux and I: Book One  
Chapter One: Ria

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There are always questions in life, but perhaps that's the beauty of it. If people were born with the ability to know everything, there wouldn't be much to live for, would there? No adventure. No challenge. No ability to choose and learn. Each and every one of us spends our lives asking and answering questions, and sometimes, that can be a pretty big pain in the ass: especially when we have questions that we can't find the answers to.

What came first: the chicken or the egg?

What existed before the universe did?

Is there a God?

Why is chocolate so delicious?

People who lived long before me and long after me have and will devote their lives in pursuit of the answers to these questions. After all, we humans are a curious bunch by nature, and are stubborn to the point of stupidity. Call it the human condition.

I was always an ordinary girl, living in my ordinary world: middle class, average height, fairly intelligent, a mediocre athlete. Just one college sophomore in a university full of hundreds of sophomores in a country full of hundreds of universities. I was perfectly ordinary, and perfectly content with my lot in life. It wasn't until the accident that I became something special.

It wasn't that I changed. I physically remained very much the same as I always had been, bar a few minor alterations. No. I changed in spirit. I changed forever and irrevocably when I became one of the few people to ever know the answer to one of life's unanswerable questions: What happens when you die?

It wasn't quite what you might think.

* * *

My life ended very unpleasantly. When the truck hit the passenger side –my side—of the car, I was hurt, and badly. I was crushed and bleeding and struggling to stay conscious, and from the beginning I knew I was going to die. (What a curious feeling that was: _knowing_.) However, my injuries weren't quite severe enough to kill me instantly. I died slowly, with every minute ticking by like an hour, and the panicked cries of Ria ringing in my ears as darkness muffled me like a damp pillow, my pain fading away.

My name is Astoria White, and I was a pretty good kid, for the most part. I was a psychiatry major and had good grades, a unique and fun job in a laboratory, great friends, and a family that loved me. My life was pretty good.

My best friend's name was also Astoria. It was what drew us together in the first place, actually. She was Astoria Erin Wyke, and I was Astoria Alice White. (Score 8 out of 10 on the freak-o-scale, I know.) We went to high school together, and having such similar names, we caused quite a bit of confusion amongst our classmates for the first few days of school. In fact, we started out hating each other for it, but in the end, we became the best of friends. She was Ria, and I was Stori, and we did everything together.

Well, except for dying. I pretty much took that little side trip by myself.

After I died, I wasn't quite sure what I had expected. Nothingness? The Pearly Gates? A fiery inferno of endless suffering? Certainly not what I saw and experienced.

I died in that car crash, in Ria's arms. Departed from the Earth. Passed on. Passed away. Kicked the bucket. Croaked. Any way you'd like to put it. But I was most definitely dead, and I knew it. I _felt_ it. Dying was the most terrifying experience of my life. Or… not-life, seeing as death can't exactly be considered _life_… can it?

But I digress.

I emerged from the darkness rather slowly. Yet I found myself not broken and hurting and bleeding and crying, like I had been, but sitting smack in the middle of a beautiful forest clearing in my favorite pear of jeans and pink t-shirt. Sitting just in front of me was a middle-aged man. The only adequate word that I could find to describe him is reasonable. He just looked… _reasonable_. Reasonable aside, I wasn't quite sure what was happening or why he was there.

Ever articulate, I blurted, "What the _hell_?"

The man blinked at me. "If you think that _this_ is Hell my dear, you and I need to have a talk," he said with a trace of amusement.

I blinked right back at him. "I'm _dead_."

"Yes, you are, Astoria White," he confirmed.

I frowned, looking around me. The clearing was eerily silent. A breeze stirred the branches of the nearby trees, but I couldn't hear the rustle of the leaves, nor could I hear the bugs or birds that should have been there. It was like a silent movie, and it creeped me out. All in all, I probably should have been far more panicked than I actually was, but I was inexplicably calm, contrary to my natural state of being. (I'm a bit of a spaz.) Under normal circumstances, I would have been freaking out, but as it was, I was able to remain more rational. "Who are you?" I asked the man sitting across from me.

The man cocked his head to one side and considered me. "You may call me Bartholomew," he finally replied. "I am your higher power representative."

I didn't even bother to try and process that bit of information. "Wait, is this the afterlife?" I asked, confused. It certainly didn't _seem_ like the afterlife. Forests were nice and all, but I thought it might get a bit boring if I had to spend eternity in one with a man named Bartholomew.

"Yes and no," Bartholomew sighed. "I'm afraid that while you _are_ dead, you aren't _supposed_ to be. Your case was mishandled, and you've been placed in this isolated holding area, temporarily of course."

"Mishandled," I parroted. "Mishandled?" I made a face at him. Since when did people die if their cases were mishandled? I was _dead_! Not _mishandled_!

"You were in the vehicle with Astoria Wyke, were you not, Astoria White?" he queried, as if reading my mind. (Which, in all fairness, he might have been.)

"Well, yes," I admitted, fidgeting, but not having any urge to get to my feet. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Astoria White was not supposed to die tonight," Bartholomew informed me. "Astoria _Wyke_ was. There was a mix-up in the paperwork, and the mistake was made before it could be corrected."

My breathing hitched and strangled in my throat. (Although why I had a throat or a need to breathe in the first place escaped me.) It was all too much to process. I hadn't even figured out exactly to what degree I was dead, much less exactly how angry I was that people's deaths were decreed by some sort of _paperwork_!

I decided to go with highly irritated. "You mean that my best friend was supposed to _die_, but you screwed up on a massive scale and _I _died instead? How am I supposed to feel about that?" I cried. "I can't even wish myself un-dead, because that would kill Ria! But… I never wanted to die either! Fuck you, man!"

To his credit, Bartholomew took everything in stride very well. He didn't bat an eye at my outburst, although I suppose he probably expected a worse reaction. I probably would have given one too, if I weren't feeling so abnormally mellow. As it was, I just didn't see the point in breaking my higher power representative's nose, even though it _would_ be immensely satisfying. "I am genuinely remorseful for what has happened to you, Astoria White," Bartholomew protested, seemingly sincere. "That is why I have brought you here. The higher powers have agreed to make redress by offering you a choice."

This gave me pause, and I refocused my eyes from the beautiful forest scene onto Bartholomew's reasonable face, noticing for the first time that his eyes weren't entirely human. They were slitted like a cat's, and a muddy green color. "And what choice do I have?" I spat bitterly. "I'm dead. I don't know what that means to _you_, but to _me, _that kind of_ sucks_."

Bartholomew ignored me. "You have two options," he reported gently. "Firstly, you may continue on to where all of the dead souls of your world continue on to." I opened my mouth to comment upon that, but the higher power representative simply overrode me. "Secondly, you would be given a second chance and given a new life on a _new_ world of your choosing."

I closed my mouth quickly, opened it, and closed it again. "Uh, what?" I finally spluttered. (My excuse for my stunning intellectual powers at that moment was that, hey, I had just _died_!)

I could have sworn that Bartholomew rolled his eyes at me. "You're familiar with what those on your world call the 'Multiple Universe Theory', correct? Where there are an infinite number of universes all existing simultaneously, for every possibility that exists?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Well, I suppose it works a little something like that," Bartholomew elaborated. "There are multiple universes, and the higher powers care for the dead souls of them all. You cannot return to life in your _own_ universe: that isn't the way of things. However, this does not mean you cannot travel to a new world, and begin a new life _there_. This is the boon that the higher powers are willing to grant you after erroneously taking your life."

"I… suppose I like that option the best," I answered tentatively, admittedly still more than a little overwhelmed. "But how do I choose a new world to live in if I've never seen any?"

"There are endless possibilities," Bartholomew responded factually. "If you can imagine it, it exists, as well as much more."

I pouted. "You are _exceptionally_ unhelpful," I groaned. "That doesn't make the choice any easier!"

Bartholomew's features remained reasonable, but I was sure I saw a little laughter in his eyes. "Perhaps something you are more familiar with?" he suggested. "The people of your world are fond of the written word, yes? Many worlds have been imagined in the novels your people have created. Are there any you favor?"

For the first time since the beginning of our conversation, a little excitement alit in my chest. I had always been an avid reader: ever since my early childhood. How many times had I wished I could escape into my favorite books? If I _had_ to die, at least I now had the option of going and being whomever I chose available to me. It was the next best thing. "Really? I could do that?" I gasped.

Bartholomew nodded. "Most certainly, just as well as you could any other world. It is your choice."

My mind was reeling. What should I do? What should I _do_? I suddenly missed my mother very, very much. I wanted to cry when I realized I wouldn't see her again. Nor my father and brother, nor my aunt, uncle and cousin, nor my friends, nor Ria. Dear Ria. The one who was supposed to die. I wouldn't see _any_ of them again, and the thought was painful. They would miss me. I would miss them. None of us would ever know what became of each other, and that was hard. They were everything to me, and now I had nothing.

Perhaps it was the intense longing for something dear and familiar that influenced my decision then. My mind immediately leapt to my favorite novel as a child: the one that had turned my hatred of reading and dreaming into a love and craving for it. 'Eragon'. As I had grown older, I had grown away from the book, but like a favorite teddy bear, the thought those familiar words soothed me, and I knew where I wanted to be. I informed Bartholomew accordingly.

"You are sure?" he asked passively.

I hesitated before nodding. "Yes."

And really, I was. There wasn't anyplace better. If I was going to survive banishment from everything that I had ever known and loved, I was going to need passion and friendship and excitement and something to strive for. If nothing else, Alagaesia could provide that for me.

"It will be arranged immediately," Bartholomew promised. "Sleep now. When I return, we will send you on your way. Think on this: upon your arrival, you may request any eleven items to be given to you to begin your new life, and nothing else. Choose wisely."

A flash of light, and Bartholomew was gone, leaving me alone in the soundless clearing. "Thank you Bartholomew," I whispered into the air before, almost against my will, sleep overtook me and I slumped to the ground, senseless.

* * *

I don't remember much of what happened after that, but when I next awoke, I _knew_ I was different. Again, I was in a forest, but this forest was very different from the one in the quasi-afterlife. This one lacked perfection. It was rough and unrefined and _real_.

Groaning a little, I sat up, pine needles stuck in my hair. Bartholomew was waiting for me, standing a little to the side. "Welcome to Alagaesia, Astoria White. Everything has been prepared as you asked. This is your last chance to move into the next life: after this moment, your decision will be irrevocable until the day you die. Do you choose to stay?"

"Yes, Bartholomew. I _do_ choose to stay," I affirmed grumpily, stumbling to my feet clumsily, like a baby horse. I took a few moments to adjust to my body, and I looked down at myself with curiosity. I was dressed interestingly. I wore sturdy black combat boots, thin leather gloves, leather leggings (Super kinky, I know.) and a rough royal blue tunic cinched about my waist with a thick leather belt. "Good choice," I commented. "Very practical."

Bartholomew nodded in acknowledgement. "Have you decided what supplies you wish to be granted to you?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrows. The man was all business, apparently. "Yeah. Do I just tell you and you make it happen? Is that how this works?"

"Indeed, that is 'how this works'," came the faintly mocking reply. "I will provide whatever you ask."

"Whatever I ask?" I clarified suspiciously, planting my hands on my hips.

Bartholomew rolled his alien eyes at me. "Only eleven. Remember that."

"Right. Noted," I sighed. "Well, the first three things I want aren't _objects_ exactly," I hedged. "I want knowledge: complete fluency in this world's Ancient Language, and mastery of combat with the sword as well as magic." After all, how was I supposed to survive in a world that fought with swords if I didn't even know how to use one? Or converse with elves and magicians if I didn't know the Ancient Language? I also hoped to be able to find Eragon and help him learn, so he might be better prepared for the fight against Galbatorix. To do so, I needed knowledge to give. _Yes_ it was cheating and _yes_ it was rather –okay, it was _really_—arrogant of me, but after having already died, I wanted to make _doubly_ sure that it was as difficult as possible to kill me. It's not as if I intended to _abuse_ these gifts either. On the contrary, I hoped to save lives. After all, I _had_ read the books. Technically, I knew the future.

Suck it, Angela.

Bartholomew's brow furrowed. "No, they're not objects," he agreed, still frowning. "But at the same time, this is not unreasonable of you to ask for. These are cultural skills that others born into this world may very well possess, putting you at a disadvantage when interacting them. I will grant you these skills, as your first three allowances." With that, he stepped right up into my personal space.

Naturally, I leaped back as if scalded.

"I cannot give you this knowledge if you keep jumping away like a skittish animal," Bartholomew snapped impatiently, glaring at me.

Sheepishly, I returned to my previous spot. I was pretty glad Bartholomew brushed his teeth. Otherwise it would've been a doozy.

Like a classic scifi film, the man placed his hands on either side of my temples and closed his eyes. One flash of light later, and I was three life-skills smarter.

Seriously. Just like that. One minute I didn't know, and the next, I _knew_. This wasn't your average epiphany moment either. It felt like I had spent years doing something I had never done in my life. Do you have any idea how _weird_ that feels? I'm gonna guess not. For future reference, the answer is: _very_ weird. Weird enough that I sat down very quickly, and not very gracefully, dizzy and queasy.

"W-woah," I spluttered, blinking furiously and trembling. "That is… fucked up."

Bartholomew raised his eyebrows at me. "Next?"

It took me more time than I care to admit to process the fact that he had spoken, and then formulate an answer. "R-right. My stuff. Right," I stammered. The next item was very important. Perhaps the most important. I wasn't even sure if Bartholomew could retrieve it for me, and his ability to do so would affect everything about me from this point onwards. (No pressure.) "Look, there's a place called the Vault of Souls on Vroengard, right?"

Bartholomew nodded.

"Well, there are a lot of dragon eggs there. Riders' eggs," I elaborated, fidgeting nervously. "If, among them, there is an egg that would hatch for _me_, I would like to have it as my third item."

Cliché? Yes. Logical? Also yes. I was alone in a strange place. Completely alone. If there was anything I needed right then, it was a lifelong friend who would share in everything I was. There was no guarantee that there even was a dragon that would hatch for me, but it couldn't hurt to try. Bartholomew simply nodded at my words, and in a heartbeat, had disappeared and reappeared again in his trademarked flash of light, searing his afterimage into my retinas. In his arms was cradled a dragon egg.

Seeing this, I broke out into a shit-eating grin, my heart leaping. Perhaps I wouldn't be so alone after all. The egg that Bartholomew had brought was perhaps a foot in length and a perfect oval. It was light grey in color, and when the light caught its pristine marbled surface, I could see a light metallic sheen dancing across the shell, making it almost silvery in color. It was a welcome sight, as I realized that inside of that hollow space was the person that would be my best friend for as long as I lived. (At least this time around.)

Cradling the egg like I would a child, I stood and took it from Bartholomew's cold hands, gazing upon it with open wonder. I had expected the dragon egg to be beautiful, but what I had read in the past really didn't do it justice. This egg gave off an aura that was almost transcendental in nature, and I suspected that any others would be much the same, and just as breathtaking.

Clearly impatient, Bartholomew cleared his throat, and with much regret, I tore my eyes from the dragon egg and returned my attention to him. "The next three items can all be found in the same place," I told him. "They are all held within the palace of the one called Galbatorix. The first is a rider's sword. You may choose any that you wish from his collection, so long that it will well suit my style of fighting." A pause followed, as I waited for the representative's sign of understanding. When he nodded, I pushed on. "The other two are the dragon eggs that will one day become the dragons known as Thorn and Fírnen. I require those as well."

"Ambitious. I like it," Bartholomew commented, before flashing in and out of existence and reappearing with the sword and eggs.

"How do you do that so fast?" I asked curiously, making no move to take them from him. "Go places and reappear in others almost instantly."

The man shrugged, features impassive. "Space-time doesn't exist to me like it exists to you," came the only explanation.

Deciding that this was as much information as I was likely to receive, I moved on to examining my newest acquisitions. The eggs that I knew held the dragons Thorn and Fírnen were similar in size and shape to the one that I already held, and just as beautiful, in their own ways. Lurid red and mottled green, the two made an interesting pair. Placing the silver egg on the ground, I moved them one by one to its side before turning my attention to the blade that Bartholomew held, accepting it when he offered it to me and testing its weight in my hands. Drawing it, I could appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. Clasped decoratively in the pommel was a large diamond, which was its first feature to catch my eye. The sword in its entirety was a graceful tool, and entirely silver in coloring. It was surprisingly heavy, but it was also balanced perfectly, and I was startled that I was able to hold it so comfortably, despite the fact that I knew very well that I now knew how to use it with a level of mastery few could hope to achieve. I wasn't accustomed to it: something I knew that I could only rectify with practice. It seemed that Bartholomew had chosen well. I liked the feeling of this sword in my hand, and vowed to test my skills with it as soon as possible. Carefully, so as not to slice myself, I turned it over until I could see the rune engraved on the hilt.

_Wyrda_. How fitting.

With that, I sheathed it and turned to look at the ground.

"That makes six. Five remain," Bartholomew stated.

I nodded. "I will need a saddle, for the dragon. As well as a well-drawn map of Alagaesia, a warm cloak, and a pack."

Flash. Flash. All four were waiting for me. I bit my lip, and Bartholomew, ever reasonable, looked on impassively, waiting for me to speak again. "There is a poison. It's called Skilna Bragh. I need enough antidote to cure someone of it," I finally decided.

Flash. Flash. A stoppered glass vial full of a lurid orange liquid was passed to me.

That's right. _I_ had a plan. If it worked, things would turn out better than if I hadn't interfered.

I was given a second chance and the tools to make a difference. I had the power to impact this world in a _big_ way, and I'd be _damned_ if it wasn't in a good way. In the words of President Wilson, in order to shape the peace, one must first fight the war. I had lost everything on Earth, and I could prevent the same from happening to people here. But first, I had to fight for it, and this I would do.

"This moment will mark the termination of all contact between yourself and the higher powers," Bartholomew suddenly informed me. "Is there anything you feel the need to say?"

"Other than to thank you for what you've done to make everything right again, Bartholomew?" I shook my head. "No. Nothing."

For a moment, we stared at each other—the human woman and the reasonable whatever-the-hell-he-was. Then, I slowly gave him a wave. "Goodbye, Bartholomew," I offered.

The higher power representative nodded reasonably. "Until you die," he called out as his parting words, before simply popping out of existence in a kaleidoscope of light that seemed to suck sound in with it.

And then, I was alone.

But the wind rustled the trees, and the birdsong and hum of bugs wove through the air, and hot blood rushed through my veins, and I was _alive_. I was caught halfway between rejoicing my new life and mourning my death, but I no longer held the false sense of serenity that had pervaded me in the false clearing. It was bittersweet, and I loved it.

* * *

_Party hard! Cheesy, yes. But I love it! :)_


	2. B1-Ch2: Of Chaos

_A/N: Normally, I don't update nearly so fast, but I kind of want to get the ball rolling on this story here, yeah? Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed with such helpful advice and excellent questions. Here's the next chapter!_

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The Redux and I: Book One  
Chapter Two: Of Chaos

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Charles Darwin once said that a man who wastes one hour of time hasn't discovered the true value of life. Well, I wasn't a man, but I found myself driven almost to distraction every time I tried to sit still in the first few days of my new life. If I wasn't doing _something_, I didn't handle it well. One of the first things I did after constructing a little lean-to in the clearing was thoroughly explore the surrounding area, Wyrda strapped to my hip, the map tucked in my belt, and the silver dragon egg cradled under one arm. The area was isolated, and the forested area surprisingly small. Just a twenty minute jog to the East, the treeline abruptly ended, giving way to a curious landscape of limestone mounds worn into contorted shapes by the elements that extended as far as the eye could see. From the map, I could tell that this was an area very close to Dras Leona, and perhaps the very place where Brom's tomb would one day reside.

That being said, no such shiny object was currently visible.

Enter Phase Omega. I have always been a fan of lists. On a scale of one to Uma Thurman, they kick some serious ass. If one creates a list, all of the potential organization problems that could occur are instantly destroyed, and it's glorious. Hence, I made a list. After all, if I was going to be the man with the plan, I actually needed a _plan_ first. The first item on my list was the completion of Phase Omega.

What is Phase Omega, you ask? Well, it's not nearly as badass as it sounds. Phase Omega was pretty much waiting and training and training and waiting. I had asked to (and therefore assumed had) come into this world at the beginning: the moment that Arya had transported Saphira's egg away into the path of an unwitting Eragon. Everything that happened after that –Saphira's hatching, the growth of the bond between rider and dragon, Garrow's death, and Eragon's subsequent adventures with Brom—were simply too important for me to interfere with. The point that I had decided it was best to make an appearance was just after the death of Brom. Ergo, my current location. However, that also meant that I had several months to kill before dragon and rider arrived.

But waiting wasn't all that bad. The area was very isolated, and during the first week of my stay in the scrappy forest that Bartholomew had left me in, I actually accomplished quite a lot. First and foremost, I was allowed peace and isolation and time to come to terms with everything that had happened to me in such a short time. I'm not what one would consider an overly emotional person, but my new state of being was hard for me. Finding enough to survive one wasn't difficult, with the help of some minor magic and one-way communication with some friendly and knowledgeable local squirrels. (I was able to hunt for whatever I needed, and the local wildlife knew where all of the best food grew.) Additionally, a stream ran a little deeper into the forest from my lean-to, and I found myself surprised at how little I actually _needed_ once I was living alone in a forest.

I mean, _sure_ I felt like a hobo, but it was actually kind of nice in a way. And believe me, I am _not_ a fan of camping. I just felt like everything that I had ever known was suddenly thrust into perfect perspective, and a part of me –a _big_ part of me—wished that it hadn't happened too late. I was depressed after leaving everyone I loved, but I was gonna make it. And that was the way life was, I supposed.

During this first week, I practiced with my swordplay extensively, drawing an angry-face with fangs on a particularly offending tree stump with a lump of charcoal and hacking away with varying types and combinations of strikes. This was difficult for me, as I simply wasn't in as good of physical shape to the degree that swordplay required, and the practice left me feeling stiff and exhausted at the end of every day. It was sheer asinine stubbornness that prevented me from giving up: something that was probably a _very_ good thing.

I practiced quite a bit with magic as well, exploring my capabilities like a mime trapped in a glass box, learning my boundaries through experience and by touch. Magic was something unlike anything I had _ever _experienced before, and all the more exciting because of it. I can't even _begin_, and won't attempt to, describe how it felt to use it as I experimented for a few hours every day in the privacy of the silent trees. In this case I thought it was a good thing that I was so isolated, because after my first mishap caused an entire nearby tree to burst into bright white flames, I began to fear for the lives of my skittish little friends the squirrels. If there were ever any people around… well, I would be fearing for _their_ lives, and the lives of their whimpy little wooden houses, as well. Control wasn't _exactly_ my forte in the beginning.

Fortunately, it only took about a week for me to become somewhat comfortable with the use of magic, and I immediately set about placing some protective wards around the more valuable items in my possession. I took pride in my spellwork; more so than anything else I had ever done. Finding a newer, more elegant way to accomplish something brought me a soaring thrill each and every time, and I blossomed under the challenge of literally endless possibilities. I was the master of chemistry and physics, and the catalyst of change, and I sometimes spent more time than I initially intended in experimentation or meditation.

All in all, it felt as if I were reacquainting myself with _me_: learning about myself and whom I had become. I had never felt so alive in my life.

* * *

It wasn't until the end of this first week that the silver egg, which I carried on my person at all times, hatched. (In the dead of night, of course, because it would simply be too polite to hatch at a _decent_ hour.) One moment I was peacefully dreaming, and the next, my sleep was shattered by a sudden series of squeaks.

"Whaaa?" I groaned, sitting up quickly and lunging for Wyrda.

Predictably, no one answered, and it took me a few moments to understand what was happening.

_Squeak!_ The silver egg, which had been resting by my side, twitched, its oblong outline quivering in the darkness. Quickly, I cast a werelight that illuminated the tiny space. My lean-to was nothing spectacular. Simply some long branches interwoven with thick foliage leaned up against a thick tree trunk. Jammed into one corner was the huge dragon-saddle (Which was really just a pile of useless leather at the moment.) with the smaller items, including the two other dragon eggs, tucked safely away in its saddlebags, protected by several layers of wards. This didn't leave much room for myself, but it got cold at night, so I tended to huddle into a ball beneath my cloak, and the small space helped retain heat. It was crude and damp, but it kept the wind and rain out.

The egg rattled in place again, awakening me fully, and I crawled from my sleep space to the ring of stones I used as a fire pit, which was just outside. I brought the egg with me, and unlike all of the other times I had held it, I could distinctly feel the dragon inside moving around.

"Brisingr," I barked, sparking a blaze in the fire pit and casting a wave of heat and light around my clearing. Still slightly bleary (Hey, I'm not the only person in the history of people who doesn't wake up well!) I extinguished the werelight and seated myself on a nearby stump, placing the grey egg by my feet, and settled down to watch it intently.

It took a _long_ time for the bloody thing to hatch. The dragon struggled and fought to knock each chunk of thick shell out of place. It was difficult to watch when I could have easily reached down and broke the shell away myself, but I knew that this was my dragon's first battle, and that he or she needed to fight it for themselves. It would define them, and make them stronger.

When my dragon finally emerged victorious amidst the shattered remains of its oblong prison, however, I decided that the wait was worth it. It was beautiful. Like a cat, it immediately attended to its vanity, shuffling its disproportionally large wings a bit before licking the clinging membrane from its shiny grey scales and not paying the slightest mind to its surroundings. It was extremely adorable.

"Hello, dragon," I whispered to it, eyes bright.

Immediately, it swiveled its head in my direction and narrowed its pale silvery eyes at me, as if asking me whom I thought I was to deign speak to it.

"Hello. My name is Astoria," I told it, not really caring that it just kept staring at me as if I were an alien. (Which, in all fairness, I suppose I was, in a way.) "I'm pleased to meet you. You're the first person I've seen here, you know, and I'm glad it's you. You see—" I leaned a little closer to it. "You see, you and I; we have a job to do. People here are suffering. But you and I can help them. We _can_. But I need your help, little dragon," I sighed. "I can't do it alone. If there's anything I've learned, it's that life sucks and then you die, and then you un-die, and life sucks some more. It's the _people_ you meet that make it worthwhile. I need your strength and your love. I can't help these people all by myself."

Carefully, so as not to startle the creature, I moved my hand into the space between us, stopping halfway. I waited. "Little dragon, would you do the honor of becoming my bondmate?" I asked quietly.

The dragon cocked its head to one side and considered me in silence, its slitted pupils narrowing upon my fingers. I sincerely hoped that the dragon was considering bonding with me, as opposed to eating my hand. That would kind of suck, after I'd lugged the damn egg around for days. I really was hoping for the former, however. The dragon really was beautiful. Its body was whiplike and sinewy, and surprisingly small given the size of the egg. Its scales were colored much like the surface of the egg had been: light smoky grey with a metallic hint that shone silver in the light from the fire. The dragon was far different in reality from what I had expected it to be, but I couldn't find it within myself to be anything but glad. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

Said dragon then seemed to come to a decision, and thrust its head forward like a dart. (The jury was still out on whether or not it intended to bite my fingers.) Regardless, the moment it touched my skin, an explosion of pain lanced through my body, and I collapsed to the ground in an undignified heap, senseless.

* * *

When I awoke, the night was still blanketing my forest home, but the fire had died down considerably. I was curled on my side in a rather awkward angle, and the dragon had settled itself quite comfortably on my shoulder, humming. Now, I don't know if you've ever heard a dragon hum, but it doesn't sound like a _human_ humming. If anything, it sounded more like a cat's purr, although I'm sure the dragon would be insulted if it knew I thought that.

Regardless, I was in some discomfort. Groaning, I sat up, unceremoniously causing the dragon to fall into a heap in my lap. Yeah. That hurt. Tingles were still racing up and down my body.

The dragon in my lap stretched and yawned, the tip of its little pink tongue curling, before focusing on me again. I could feel it as it tentatively brushed my mind. The dragon was curious: overwhelmingly so. It wanted to know absolutely everything about the strange new world it suddenly found itself in.

Gingerly, I turned over my right hand, with the palm that had been seared silver. The Gedewey Ignasia was very much like a large, flat scar. Its silvery surface shimmered with magic however, disqualifying this possibility. Sensing my discomfort, the little dragon butted its head against my fingers, and I slowly moved to pet it, running my fingetips over its smooth scales and tiny white spikes, lingering over the areas that increased the volume of its humming. I wasn't quite sure if I was calm, or if I was simply in shock, but the wonder I was feeling would have remained regardless.

A wave of hunger that wasn't my own washed over me, and the dragon looked at me expectantly.

Oh. Right.

Carefully, I lifted the dragon back to my shoulder, where it clung on with its little claws, and stood. A ways away stood a tree upon one of its branches I had hung the remains of a rabbit I had killed. (I kept any food I had gathered well away from my lean-to. It wouldn't do to have wild animals tearing me apart in my sleep, now, would it?) I removed the rabbit and tossed it on the ground, removed the dragon, and tossed it to the ground as well. Or rather, it kind of _leaped_ to the ground, having seen the rabbit.

For something so small and pretty, the dragon was seriously violent. The poor rabbit didn't stand a chance. I had dissected a rat before, and that hadn't been pretty, and of course I'd been cleaning the meat I'd killed to cook it, but the dragon was _mauling_ the thing. I winced at the sound of bones cracking. I was _seriously_ glad that this dragon was on my side, and it wasn't even a foot and a half long snout to tail-tip!

It was a little while before the dragon finished, but I stood watch over it the whole time. Then, after it had eaten its fill, it lumbered over to me, blinking sluggishly, and chirruped in my direction. I could feel its sleepiness very clearly through the tenuous link in our minds, so I picked it up and made the trek back to the lean-to, where I and my as of yet unnamed dragon companion curled up and went back to sleep.

* * *

When the sun rose the next morning, filtering through the gaps in the trees, I awoke to find the dragon already alert and waiting for me with an expectant look on its little face, tail twitching. It was already visibly larger than the night before, and immediately, it mewled to be fed.

And that's what my life was like for the next two weeks. Within a day, the little dragon began catching its own food, but it still ate a _lot_. It pretty much decimated the squirrel population. By the day, it grew exponentially—to a point where I hardly believed it was possible to actually expand that fast. (Talk about growing pains!) By the time the grey dragon was two weeks old, it was as large as a small pony. To say that I was impressed would be an understatement.

Aside from my normal training regiment, I spend most of my time in the company of the dragon. It was lonely, living out in the forest by myself, and I missed my old family and friends, but was nice to have someone to talk to, even if he or she couldn't talk back yet. I knew the dragon understood what I said. I spent hours simply yammering away, sharing memories of places I'd been and things that I'd done, and the dragon faithfully paid rapt attention, especially to my thoughts of the people who used to be important to me.

In fact, the dragon's first word was the name of the person who I dwelled upon the most. Ria. I was thinking 'out loud' to the dragon: wondering if Ria was allowed to live since I had taken her place in death due to a mishap in the filing system, and playing a memory of the two of us doing our best to learn how to dance and falling all over each other instead, laughing.

"_Ria…"_ came the sad comment from the dragon, making me jump from my quiet meditation.

I stared at the creature, which always lounged by my side during my meditation sessions, before giving it a small smile. "Since her name is Astoria too, I'll take that as a compliment," I commented, reaching out and stroking its nose.

The dragon loved to be petted. Perhaps it was my tactile nature rubbing off on it (No pun intended.) but both the dragon and I had a habit of touching each other when communicating, or even simply because we felt like it. We slept side by side every night, even when it would no longer fit in the lean-to, and the dragon would flick me with the tip of its tail if I started teasing it or nuzzle me if it was feeling affectionate.

"_Astoria,"_ the dragon amended. I could feel its amusement.

"Nobody calls me that," I complained, laughing. "I'm Stori, really."

The dragon blinked its large pale eyes at me. "_Astoria,"_ it repeated smugly.

"Smartass," I accused. "Who taught you to be so snarky?"

"_Astoria."_

"Oh, ha-ha. Very funny," I grumbled, trying to keep a straight face. I couldn't, however, and burst out laughing. "Okay, it _was_ funny," I admitted.

The dragon was laughing too. Dragon laughs kind of sound like a choking elephant, but it's a pleasant enough sound once you get used to it. _"Astoria…"_ it trailed off, trying to send me an impression through our mind link. As always, I was a little slow on the uptake, but I eventually got the idea.

"You want your own name," I realized aloud. "Well, first thing's first. If you want my help, I'll need to know your gender."

The dragon seemed offended.

"Hey, I haven't known you for all that long, and it's kind of been a one-sided conversation!" I defended, pouting a little. "I'm not an expert on dragon anatomy, thank you. I have no idea what to look for!"

A few unnecessarily vivid images later, and I had my answer. "Was that _really_ necessary?" I complained.

The dragon let loose a huff of air. _"Yes."_

She was most definitely a female.

I released a pent-up breath in a sharp hiss. "Okay," I began. "Okay. How do you want to go about this? Do you have any ideas?"

The dragon lifted her snout haughtily. _"Your world has had many women of great power, both in history and myth. I wish to bear the name of one of these."_

I sighed. "Well, that's a start," I admitted. Thinking on it, I assumed that my dragon would prefer one of the older, more myth-based names. It seemed more fitting than a more modern title. I decided to start rattling off names of goddesses. Certainly that would fit the draconic ego. "There's Epona, or Freya, or Hebe, or Hathor," I threw out.

It was interesting to feel the dragon's emotional reactions to each of the names I provided her, but in the end she did not like any of them enough. _"More,"_ she requested.

I nodded. "Minerva, or Ma'at, or Vesta, or Rhea?" She liked the name Rhea more than the others so far, but it still wasn't right. "Isis, or Thalia, or Eris, or Inanna?"

At the name Eris, my dragon perked up a little, considering. I could tell she liked this name most. "Are you Eris?" I enquired.

"_Eris…"_ she tried, rolling the name around. _"Who was this 'Eris' in your human legends?"_

"A goddess of chaos and destruction, I believe," I replied, frowning a little. I was a bit rusty on my mythology, but it was close enough, right?

The dragon preened. _"Eris. Yes, I am Eris," _she hummed, stretching. _"I shall rain chaos destruction upon our enemies, and the egg-breaker Galbatorix who betrayed my kin!"_ By the end, she was snarling savagely.

"Woah there, Tiger," I laughed. "Why don't we wait until you're a little bigger, yeah?"

Eris hissed at me, but relented once I scratched beneath her jaw in her favorite place. _"Perhaps that would be more prudent," _she admitted, enjoying my ministrations and lifting her chin like a contented cat.

"Perhaps," I agreed, smiling. After a moment, I spoke again. "I am honored to meet you, Eris."

"_And I you, Stori."_

* * *

_A/N: Ta-da! Any advice, suggestions, or constructive criticism is MORE than welcome. Just type in that little box down below! I double-dog dare you!_


	3. B1-Ch3: Convergence

_A/N: So, I've been getting a lot of comments about how it was too soon for a baby dragon to talk at two weeks old. I promise you that it's not, though. Saphira was described as beginning to talk when she was a fortnight old, and a fortnight is approximately fourteen days long, which is how old Eris was when she started talking as well. I'm using Saphira's development as a guideline for Eris's, though I'm sure it would have varied dragon to dragon, for the sake of accuracy._

_Anywho, thank you very much to those who reviewed, and enjoy this next chapter!_

* * *

The Redux and I: Book One  
Chapter Three: Convergence

* * *

C. S. Lewis once said that friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy and like art. It has no survival value; rather, it is one of those things that give value to survival.

I wholeheartedly agree with him.

I don't think I really appreciated Eris fully until the day of our first flight together. For days, the dragon had been pestering me to join her in the air, and for days, I postponed the journey. It wasn't so much that I was afraid of flying, but for Eris. Her growth had slowed, and I worried that she wasn't big enough to carry me safely.

Eris settled the argument by pinning me to the ground beneath her front paws and not releasing me until I agreed to ride her.

Truth be told, Eris _did_ struggle taking off. Her muscles strained mightily with her motions, and I clung tightly to the white neck-spike in front of me as her thin, whip-like body slowly gained altitude with every flap of her huge wings. But she never for a moment doubted herself, much less considered giving up, and after a while, the pattern of her wing-beats evened, and I loosened my white-knuckle grip and enjoyed the sensation of flight. The two of us soared high over the ground and through the clouds as one, and it was at that moment that I knew I'd never had as wonderful a friend as I had in Eris right then.

Flying on a dragon isn't comparable to riding a horse, but for lack of a better match, it will have to do as a metaphor. When riding a horse, one always strives to be one with the animal. To feel the rhythm of their stride and to feel the power of their legs as they bunch up to clear an obstacle. To hear the rush of their breathing and mold yourself into their turns and motions until you aren't horse and rider, but one seamless unit that can accomplish more than any divided pair can. Riding a dragon is similar in its concept, except that when riding a dragon, we _were_ one. We flew together. Our minds mingled, and I could feel her heartbeat and everything else about her. What made flying even more special, however, was the pure, unadulterated _freedom_ that came from committing the act itself. Nothing like flying in a plane. In a plane, you aren't in control, even if you're the pilot. But Eris flew like I walked and ran: like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And to us, it was.

We flew together every day at least once, after that first flight, and it only ever got better. And we always kept a sharp eye out for the telltale shine of Brom's tomb.

For a little over four months after she hatched, Eris and I were completely alone. We stayed in our little patch of forest: training and waiting, until our fellow dragon and rider passed through, and we didn't see a single soul.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. We saw three people. One was a traveler whom Eris spotted in the distance. He passed through the area quickly on his horse, oblivious to our presence. The other two weren't so oblivious. At least, not at first.

I suppose it was presumptuous of me to assume that we were safe in our isolated little bubble, and that no one would pass through with foul intentions. I was proven wrong towards the end of Eris's and my third month together. I can't say what woke me. I'd like to say that I heard them coming, but I know that it very well might not be true. To be honest, it could have been chance entirely that roused me from my sleep. But immediately upon waking, I knew that something was dreadfully wrong.

_"Eris! Eris, wake up!" _I shouted through our bond, pounding on her side.

_"Hm, what is it, Stori?"_ she groaned, lifting her wing from around where I slept against her side.

A twig snapped nearby, and I sprang for Wyrda, drawing the sword and holding it steady by my side. _"Someone is here," _I hissed. _"They _mustn't _see you, Eris. Fly! Fly!"_

I could feel my bondmate's concern for me, but she didn't argue, and sprang into the air from a standstill, leaving me alone in our clearing with the lean-to and empty fire pit. In the quiet of the night, I could hear the distinct sound of approaching footsteps, and so I waited. Fortunately –or unfortunately, as it may be—I wasn't kept waiting for very long. Two rather dirty and travel-worn men soon emerged from the surrounding forest, swords drawn. They both seemed pretty surprised when they saw me, but lecherous grins soon replaced the expressions of shock on their faces.

"Well, well, well. We weren't expecting to meet a _lady_ out here in our forest, were we Nab?" The first man asked, slowly beginning to circle me.

The one called Nab followed suit. "Nay, we weren't Larn," Nab cackled. "Lucky us, eh?"

Larn licked his lips. "Lucky us."

I lifted my chin defiantly. "What to you want of me?" I demanded. "Say your piece and then leave."

"Wha, and leave such a fine specimen such as yerself out 'ere all alone?" Larn gasped, feigning offence as he drew closer. "That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of us, would it Nab?"

Nab nodded slowly. "Not at all, Larn."

I had had enough of this. With a flick of my wrist, I brought Wyrda up and assumed a fighting stance. "One step. One step closer, and I will be forced to resort to violence," I warned coldly. "Leave now, before you regret it."

Nab and Larn howled with laughter. "What's a lit'l lady like you think she's doin' puttin' on airs like that?" Nab gasped between large guffaws. "What you do, steal your father's sword an' run away?"

I narrowed my eyes at them. "It doesn't matter. Walk away," I snapped.

Larn just looked at me smugly. "I'd like to see you stop me," he jeered, and stepped closer.

Naturally, I kept my word, and deftly smacked his arm with the flat of my blade. The message was clear: I could have hacked off his arm if I'd wanted to, so back the _hell_ off!

Unfortunately for the three of us, Larn seemed to take offence at this.

With a yelp, he jumped back. After making sure his arm was still there, the man turned hateful eyes on me. "Why you dirty little _harlot_!" he snarled, before gripping his sword and lunging at me.

This was my first fight with anything but a tree stump with a face drawn on it. Larn and Nab weren't very bright, nor did they have much skill with the blade, and I wouldn't be lying if I said that it wasn't hard to defeat them. The hard part was killing them. The men were so damn stupid that they just wouldn't give up and _run away_, which was really all I wanted. It seemed that being bested by a woman was so great an insult, they felt the need to let themselves be killed by one, and kept on attacking like bumbling fools.

I didn't think about it when I did it. I just acted on the instinct ingrained in me by Bartholomew. But before I knew it, they were dead on the ground and I stood alone in the clearing again. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. They were _dead_.

_"Stori. Little One. Are you hurt?"_ Eris asked. _"Please, Stori. Answer me."_

_ "I… I'm all right," _I responded. _"It's safe for you to come back now. They're… They're gone."_

Mere moments later, a massive thud announced Eris's arrival. Immediately, she saw me standing over the bodies of the two men. _"Oh, Stori…" _she whispered.

"I… I killed them," I whispered aloud. "They're dead, and I did it."

_"You had to, Stori. You had to,"_ Eris defended. _"They would have seriously hurt you, and you gave them plenty of chances to leave. They chose not to. I'm proud of your for doing what you did, my Rider."_

"Thank you, Eris," I sniffled, looking down at myself. I and Wyrda both were covered in blood, as was the floor of the clearing. My stomach rebelled. "Gods. Eris, do you think you could—"

_"Yes. Go clean yourself up."_ With that, Eris snatched the first of the bodies up into her talons and took to the air. She would dispose of them far from our home. I needed a bath.

* * *

Admittedly, the next few days were difficult for me. Killing another human being was never easy, even if they deserved it. I had a hard time focusing on anything, and couldn't bring myself to hunt for food without feeling horribly nauseous. Nightmares began to haunt me, and I had taken enough psychology courses to recognize that I was most likely in some sort of shock. I don't know where I'd be, or if I'd have pulled through, however, if it hadn't been for Eris.

At first, she was wonderful and conscientious. She spoke gently to me, and even went so far as to share some of her kill when I hadn't been able to slay the rabbit I intended to eat. Yet her patience had limits.

_"That's it. You need to stop moping," _she hissed three days after the incident, pinning me against a tree trunk quite suddenly.

"Eris, what are you—"

_"Enough!" _she interrupted. _"You made a _commitment _when you came here. To help these people. Well guess what? If you don't find that cause worthy enough to kill for, you _shouldn't be here_. Got it? I didn't choose a coward for a rider."_

Needless to say, I shaped up after that. Eris was right. The ends justified the means. I didn't have to like it, but I _did_ have to accept it. It was part of being a rider. I had to defend the innocent, and that included myself. That's not to say that I escaped the nightmares, or the cringe whenever I killed to eat, but I handled it better, and I was glad to have learned the lesson when I did. I needed it to grow up.

The two of us returned to training with a renewed vigor, and a stronger bond than ever, still waiting for the day when we would venture out into the world.

* * *

In this manner, Eris and I passed the time until, one morning just over four months over Eris's hatching, something changed. I awoke tucked beneath Eris's wing, as usual, but she had jerked awake quite suddenly. _"What is it, love?" _I asked.

The dragon's pupils contracted as she sniffed the air. _"I don't know," _Eris admitted, her grey scales shimmering silver in the morning light. _"It is a new smell. If I had to guess, I would say that it was—"_

_ "Dragon," _I finished for her, heart rate increasing.

Eris huffed at me. _"Yes. Do you think that it is Saphira? She is the only other one besides Shruikan and Glaedr that lives, and it is unlikely that either of them are nearby."_

_ "Oh, I don't doubt it," _I said, sitting up and grinning. _"Shall we fly?"_

_ "Yes we shall," _came the affirmative.

A new spring in my step, I got to my feet. It was very early, and the sun hadn't yet cleared the horizon, although it was staining the sky a pallid grey. I moved around my camp, gathering what few belongings I possessed and stowing them in Eris's saddlebags before strapping the saddle itself to the dragon's patient back. I then jogged over to the stream and scrubbed my face.

After months of camping in the forest, I wasn't exactly a pretty sight. I made a point to bathe and wash my clothes regularly, but there was only so much you could do in such circumstances. I figured that I could at least show up with a clean face. My hair was a long, tangled mess of brown curls, despite my attempts to comb it, and I had been seriously tempted for weeks to hack it off. But I hadn't been able to bring myself to do it. Some remnants of vanity, perhaps.

_"Are you sufficiently prettied up yet, my princess? They won't wait forever, you know," _Eris drawled sarcastically, waiting in the clearing.

Sheepishly, I made my way back to her, scrubbing the water from my face. _"Shut up," _I grumbled.

Eris just laughed her dragon-y laugh.

Moments later, the pair of us were in the air, and Eris was climbing higher and higher until she reached an altitude that gave us a good view of the forest and, farther out, the limestone formations. It was towards these that Eris angled herself, searching with her superior eyesight for any sign of our wayward travelers.

_"There!" _she exclaimed. Looking through her eyes, I could see what she meant. Atop a distant limestone pillar, the rising sun glanced off of something blue and glittery.

It could only be a dragon.

I let out an excited whoop, and urged Eris to fly faster. She immediately acquiesced, and we shot towards our target like a silver bullet. We slowed down as we drew closer, however, so as not to alarm the figures we saw, which was probably a _very_ good idea. We knew immediately when the figures surrounding the crystal tomb caught sight of us, because Saphira let loose a savage roar that made all of the fine hair on my arms stand on end.

Eris slowed down dramatically, but we did not stop. We couldn't. Gingerly, we approached the beige tower of stone. There were two figures, aside from the tomb and the great blue dragon, whom I was surprised to see was significantly larger than Eris. She was growling and snarling, but hadn't taken flight or attacked, which I took as a good sign. The two male figures, who I assumed were Eragon and Murtagh, had their swords drawn, but they too were motionless, and allowed Eris to land on the other side of their stone formation.

Immediately, I jumped from Eris's back and turned to face the others. Up close, Saphira was absolutely stunning. Her body was built far more powerfully than Eris's, but she wasn't larger to quite the degree that I had first thought. I could tell that she was a proud creature, as well as passionate with a tendency towards taking immediate action to deal with a problem, just by the way she held herself. The blue of her scales had fathomless depth, and her spikes and talons were curved almost gracefully. She was a beautiful creature, and I could see why there was pride in her eyes. That being said, I turned my eyes to the humans present, seeking out Saphira's rider.

Immediately and instinctively, I knew which was Eragon and which was Murtagh. I could sense the magic around Eragon like a shimmering curtain. He was surprisingly cute, although incorrigibly youthful in appearance. He had a head of thick, windblown brown hair and large brown doe-eyes that could charm a schoolteacher out of a twelve-pack box of sharpies. (A feat generally regarded as impossible by students of all ages.) Shadows lurked around the young man's eyes, and he looked incurably sad, and though he was bruised and battered and his middle was heavily bandaged, in his hand rested a crimson sword: Zar'roc. He was staring at me in evident shock. Murtagh, on the other hand, was harder to read. His hair was darker than Eragon's, though its texture and the way it fell were much the same. He had his brother's eyes as well, although his bone structure was very different. He was broader in body, and more aggressive in stance, and his features were schooled into a careful mask of neutrality. His sword was also drawn.

We each all stared at each other for a few heartbeats before I decided it would be best to break the ice. "Well met, Eragon, Saphira, Murtagh," I started with a feeble smile. All three visibly jumped at the sound of their names. "I am Astoria, and this is my dragon, Eris. Eka aí fricai un Shur'tugal."

It was Eragon who spoke first, albeit a little suspiciously. "Well met, Astoria. Eris."

I smiled brightly at him, before going down on one knee, drawing Wyrda, and presenting it to him in my outstretched hands. Speaking in the Ancient Language, I began, "Rider Eragon. It is my honor to meet you. I have sought you out so that I might pledge myself to your cause and to you. So long as your heart remains pure, I will follow you, the leader of the New Order wherever you may go, as a Rider under your command." I could hear Eris repeating something similar to Saphira.

Why would we bind ourselves so, you ask? Well, our reasoning was simple. Eragon was a good person, and we knew he had the potential to defeat the black king. Therefore, we would do everything in our power to help him and Saphira. Out of any of this world's leaders, I respected him the most. Therefore, he and his bondmate had my loyalty, and Eris's as well. Besides, it seemed to be the best way to gain their trust.

Both Eragon and Saphira seemed pleasantly surprised, if not unsure how to handle Eris's and my sudden declarations. Carefully, Eragon lifted Wyrda from my hands and placed its tip on my head. "Rise, Astoria. You need not kneel before me."

I did as he asked, and accepted my sword back from him. Eragon was searching my face uncertainly with those doe-eyes of his as I did so, and I stared unwaveringly back. At least the three companions, while confused, now seemed more relaxed. Eris and Saphira were sniffing curiously at each other, and I could sense Eris's excitement at meeting another member of her race, just as I had missed the sight of a human face.

"No offense, but who are you?" Eragon finally asked.

Again, I smiled at him. "A traveler from a distant land," I replied smoothly. "Alagaesia has been my home for a while now, though. I… found Eris's egg a little over four months ago, and we've been waiting for you ever since."

"You've… been waiting… for _us_?" Eragon asked skeptically. Behind him, Saphira hissed at me.

"You, Saphira, and Murtagh," I confirmed.

At this, Murtagh stirred. "That doesn't make sense," he snapped. "None of us have ever seen you before, and _I've_ only just met _them_."

I let out a breath. Here would come the hard part. I would not and _could_ not feign ignorance. I knew too much about the interested parties: especially Eragon. But how to explain a seemingly impossible knowledge in a way that didn't seem threatening? Nigh impossible. I could only hope that Murtagh didn't get jumpy and decide to eviscerate me. That would definitely be a bummer, not to mention it would upset Eris. And I always did hate to see her upset.

"I… know things," I told him in the Ancient Language, so he and Saphira would believe me. At least to a point. "I know things just like I knew you three would be here, burying Brom. Things I can't explain to you how I know, and can't tell you until the time is right. I just know them. I swear to you that I mean you nor Saphira nor Murtagh no harm. You are lead rider, and I _will_ follow you. But I can also help you with this gift. I wish only to end this fight."

A small furrow had appeared at the center of Eragon's forehead, and I realized that he probably didn't understand everything I was saying, as he was not yet fluent in the Ancient Language. Saphira, however, had a better understanding of my meaning, and peered at me curiously. She must have said something positive to Eragon, because the boy sheathed Zar'roc and dipped his head to me. "Very well," he agreed. "You and Eris may travel with us. We are to meet a contact of my mentor's at Gil'ead so that he might lead us to the Varden."

I nodded eagerly as, behind me, Eris sidled a little closer to Saphira, who didn't seem as threatening as she once had. Murtagh, however, still looked majorly and understandably creeped out. "I think that perhaps it is time that I took my leave," he said, lowering his sword but not sheathing it. "With two dragons to protect you, you should both be out of harm's way. I'm not needed."

I tried my very best not to panic. Instead, I played the best card immediately available to me. "You would leave an injured man and a young woman alone to be hunted down by Galbatorix?" I asked, making my best puppy eyes. "Eris and Saphira have to hide during the day: you know this, Murtagh. And you of all people should know what the king will do to us if he captures us!"

Eragon frowned at me, while Murtagh just looked angry. Well, angri_er_. "You know _nothing_ about me!" he snarled. "Besides, I know helpless when I see it. You wear that sword far too comfortably to be helpless."

Shot down. Ouch. Well, mother always said that if you get hit by a truck, pop anything broken back in place and try to cross the street again.

"Fair enough, Murtagh," I ceded. "But Eris and I _do _need your help. You see, a talented friend of mine stole something rather important from Galbatorix." At this, Murtagh's eyebrows rose slightly, and I figured he knew exactly what I was talking about. "Up until this point, I have been able to keep them safe, but I doubt that will be the case much longer," I sighed. "If we are attacked, I do not wish to have one person carrying both objects, and Eragon is the obvious choice next to me. I trust you, Murtagh, and I wish for _you_ to be the bearer of the second treasure."

Three sets of eyes zeroed in on me, while in my head, Eris just chuckled with black humor. I rushed to her side and dug in her saddlebags, muttering in the Ancient Language to cancel the wards I had placed around the dragon eggs, which I withdrew carefully, much to the slack-jawed astonishment of the others.

"I would _very_ much like to meet this talented friend of yours," Murtagh breathed, staring at them. "The king doesn't check up on his treasures often, and so didn't realize that the dragon eggs were gone until a little over three weeks ago. He was in a towering rage, and killed many of his servants. How did your 'friend' do this?" he asked.

I shrugged. "He's dead… sort of. None of us will be seeing him until we pass into the Void, that's for damn sure." Carefully, I offered him one of the eggs. The red one.

A vast presence brushed my mind then, and I realized that Saphira wished to speak to me. Hastily, I allowed her to do so. _"Small Rider, are you sure that you should be entrusting something so important to a complete stranger?" _she demanded heatedly. "_Dragon eggs are _not_ yours to give away as you please!"_

_"Peace, Saphira,"_ I replied, again in the Ancient Language. _"I swear to you that this man is trustworthy, and the best person to carry the egg. He will protect it until his dying day. You may tear me to pieces if I have not spoken the truth."_

The dragoness sent me a wave of skepticism. _"We shall see," _she snorted. _"I don't even know if I trust _you_ yet."_

_"Fair enough," _I acknowledged. _"I shall do what I can to earn the privilege."_

"Are you sure?" Murtagh asked me, ghosting his hands over the surface of the egg but not quite touching it. His eyes met mine, and he stared me down. "Why would you trust _me_?"

Leaning forward so that only he could hear me, I said in a low voice, "Because I know who your parents are, Murtagh Morzanson, and I don't give a damn. You're better than them. All you need is a chance to prove it."

I drew back when Murtagh drew his sword and held it to my neck, hands perfectly steady. Eris growled, but didn't move. I too stayed very still. I knew that Murtagh would (most likely) do me no harm, but it was still _scary_. I stared at him, and he stared at me, and Eragon stood to one side, torn. The depths of the older man's eyes actually revealed a surprising amount about him. They were dark eyes, pooled with anger and fear and, beneath that, sorrow. I could sympathize, though I couldn't quite relate, having never been hated and reviled because of my parentage. Still, it seemed that the wounded creature in his eyes and the wounded creature in mine eventually reached an agreement. I was slowly released from the threat of death, and Murtagh accepted the egg from my hands without another word, cradling it to his chest, though his suspicious eyes never left me.

A little shaken, I placed the green egg safely back into its pouch before turning and moving quickly to change the subject. "So, shall we be off then?" I asked the group cheerfully.

Eris snorted in amusement. _"Eragon-rider is about ready to explode with all the questions in his head," _she commented privately to me.

At her words, I threw a glance at the other rider, and he did indeed seem a bit high-strung and bright-eyed. He was very trusting. Far more so than Murtagh or Saphira, who was steadily ignoring Eris's existence. Eragon just looked like he couldn't wait to dig information out of my head. _"I'm in for it, aren't I?"_ I commented to Eris glumly.

"_You won't get a moment's peace for days!"_ the dragon threw back gleefully.

Great.

* * *

_A/N: Any ideas on how the new traveling companions will transition from their awkward not-friendship to a friendship are more than welcome, and I have a tiny disco party on the inside anytime anyone drops a review, just in case anyone wants to make me happy. :)_


	4. B1-Ch4: Saddle-Sore

_A/N: Sorry for the late update. I've had to work and all. As well as Calculus. (Kill me now.) Kind of a filler chapter here, but it's necessary. Regardless, __enjoy it, and I promise some more action next chapter!_

___Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. The feedback was great, and really helpful! :)_

* * *

The Redux and I: Book One

Chapter Four: Saddle-Sore

* * *

Trust is to human relationships what faith is to gospel living. It is the beginning place, the foundation upon which more can be built. Where trust is, love can flourish. These are the words of Barbara Smith, and they represent a truth that was immediately enforced when Eris and I attempted to befriend our new companions.

That first day was the hardest. After all was said and done, all that remained of the shock and suspicion were five people awkwardly perched atop a limestone formation with a crystalline tomb, each unsure of how to handle the others.

Surprisingly, it was Eris who spoke up first. _"Have you been hunting recently?"_ she addressed Saphira.

The larger dragon replied in the negative.

_"Come. I will show you where we might find some easy kill,"_ she offered, raising her soft grey wings and readying herself for flight. _"It will take the two-legs some time to coax the foolish four-leg beasts of burden down to the base of the pillar. We should return by then."_

After deliberating a moment with Eragon (The man got a curiously glazed expression on his face while conversing with his bondmate.) Saphira launched herself off the edge of the formation, and the pair of dragons shot off towards a herd of deer I knew Eris had been contemplating eating for days. I watched them go in silence, eyes tracing their path. I worried for Eris. She was fierce in battle, and quick to take action if need be, but by nature, she was more soft spoken than I was, and preferred to ruminate well over her circumstances. More so than Saphira did, anyways. I hoped that the two of them got along well. Saphira's good opinion of her meant a lot to Eris, I knew.

Shaking myself free of such thoughts, I turned back to the two men, each eyeing me with varying degrees of suspicion and curiosity. Eragon, being Eragon, spoke first.

"Well, we won't get to Gil'ead by standing here. Let us break camp and be off," he announced.

In silence, the three of us scrambled back down the limestone pillar and back to the large cave set in its side; silence being a relative term, as I slipped slightly at one point in the descent, causing me to spout language that would have sent my mother running for the bar of soap. As it was, Eragon just glanced at me with wide eyes and Murtagh smirked with dark humor. All of us eventually stepped into the safety of the cave unharmed, however.

The boys immediately set about gathering their scattered supplies. I would have helped, but they both moved with an efficiency that I did not possess, and concluded that any assistance from my part would, for the moment, be more trouble than it was worth. Instead, I walked over to the horses and allowed them to smell my hands before running my fingers over their velvety noses. Of the three stallions, one was a fleabitten grey, one was a dapple grey, and one was a light bay. The bay was by far the most friendly, followed by the dapple grey, which seemed to be overly excited to meet a new person. The fleabitten grey, who had a pleasant pink tinge to his nose, was wild and jumpy, and stamped and skittered rather aggressively.

"Forgive Snowfire," Eragon said from behind me, shouldering his pack. "He's been a bit unmanageable lately."

I eyed the horse with mild distaste. "I can see that."

The man chucked, unpicketing the animal and leading him towards the cave entrance while Murtagh handled the other two horses. "I'll need to handle Cadoc, as he tends to become a bit unruly on unstable ground," he informed me, before handing me the reigns to the larger dapple grey. "Take Tornac. He's calmer, and should follow you down without problems."

As it turned out, this was the biggest lie the man could have told me.

"Stupid, bloody animal!" I swore as I nearly toppled down to the base of the formation. "_Quit_ it!"

I could have sworn the beast was laughing at me.

Tornac, as it happened, adored me. And not adored as in cute cuddles or coming when I called, but the overly rough affection that you could only receive from an animal that was ten times your size. He was not, by any means, a little horse. He was in fact, quite large. That's why it bloody well _hurt_ when he head-butted me in the back so hard that he lifted me off my feet. Repeatedly. And while trying to climb down a precarious cliff face, it was _not_ my idea of fun.

When the animal wasn't doing _that_, he spent his time trying to sidle as close to me as possible, crowding me forwards and treading on my toes. If you've ever had a horse step on your foot, you understand me when I immediately started howling profanities at the animal, who seemed to take this as an invitation to do it _again_. The malicious animal also found it _greatly_ amusing to hear the startled squawk I emitted when he bit me on the ass.

All in all, it was a very one-sided affection.

Regardless, I _did_ reach the base of the limestone formation sooner than did Eragon and Murtagh, who were practically dragging a terrified Cadoc along. I used the time waiting for them to catch up to express my feelings to Tornac, swinging in front of him and glaring at him. "Now look here, Tornac," I said sternly, pointing an admonishing finger at him. "I'm sure you're a nice horse, but you should _stop_ being so obnoxious. Love on your master or something, because I most certainly do not want any more of this crowding and head-butting business. And _definitely_ no more biting. Got it?"

Tornac's reply was to sneeze directly into my face, spattering me with horse-bogeys.

It was seriously gross.

I, of course, immediately began swearing again, and doing my best to clean myself off. This I can assure you was definitely an appropriate response. Who wouldn't do the same? I'll tell you who. Nobody!

By this time, Murtagh and Eragon had finally reached even ground, and were celebrating by laughing hard enough to bust a gut. Well, perhaps literally in Eragon's case, considering his damaged side. The expression on his face was a curious combination of mirth and pain.

"It's _not_ funny!" I wailed, looking at Tornac with disgust. "Your stupid beast hates me!" The damned horse just stood there looking back at me innocently.

"I'm pretty sure he likes you," Murtagh shot back smugly, walking over and taking the reigns that I had dropped. I just glared at him.

* * *

After Saphira and Eris rejoined the group, both significantly more friendly towards each other, it was time to set off. I wanted to ride upon Eris's back, but my bonded partner prevented this by taking off before I could approach her. _"You're not going to make any friends by flying off with me, you know,"_ she pointed out.

I eyed the saddles on the horses' backs with skepticism. _"_Please_ let me ride with you?"_ I pleaded. _"I'll polish your scales: one by one if I have to!"_

"_Not a chance."_

"_I hate you."  
_

_"I know."_

She left it at that, and I reluctantly accepted the reigns of Cadoc from Eragon, who was swinging himself up onto Snowfire's back. This horse, at least, seemed somewhat sane, so I supposed it wouldn't be so bad to ride him.

Once I had spent the better part of that day riding, I would have given just about anything to see a car, just one more time. I liked horses just fine, so long as they weren't Tornac. They were friendly animals, and very fun to work with. However, the chafing that occurs after sitting in a bouncing saddle for hours is _not_ so fun. And gods was it slow. The landscape seemed to crawl by, like it did when you were trapped behind some old coot going 45 on the freeway and couldn't change lanes. All I wanted after a while was to _go_. Plane, train, car, motorcycle: at this point, any or all would have done. Dust and mud kicked up by the pounding of Cadoc's hooves spattered me continually, and the physical exertion of maintaining control of the animal was wearing on me, putting me in a right foul mood. The newfound appreciation that I had discovered for modern methods of transportation was almost beyond expression. Riding for so long over such rough terrain hurt like hell, and generally just sucked, even if we weren't going at full speed due to Eragon's injured ribs. Eventually, any repetitive task becomes taxing, and riding was not exception.

I didn't speak much that day. It was hard to do when riding, and I was more than content to listen to Eragon and Murtagh speak to each other, chiming in with a thought when necessary. I also observed much more this way. Eragon was trusting. Very trusting. Yet he was far from stupid. He just seemed to have this… way with people. A sixth sense, if you will. I could see that he picked up on the attitudes and behaviors around him like a bat sensing its prey with echolocation. He trusted Murtagh, and he trusted me, but that didn't mean he didn't put the both of us through the paces. He asked questions. Very astute questions too. The answers he received to those questions were immediately fit into the 'bigger picture' that was no doubt forming in his mind, allowing him to ask _more_ questions. Questions that many others wouldn't have thought to ask, and were all the more effective because of it. I immediately liked him for this.

Murtagh, of course, didn't trust anyone, much less myself. But I wasn't really worried.

Conversation that day ranged from local flora and fauna to politics. Even without speaking much, I guess I had a lot to say. And politics was where Murtagh really shone. He wasn't animated about anything else all day, but he had some very definite political ideas to share. These I listened to, but did not comment upon. There would be time for that later. I paid careful attention though. Murtagh was really, really smart, and he would be useful, so long as he was allowed to live up to his potential.

Regardless, my ass still hurt from the saddle, and I was _not_ pleased about it. When we finally stopped to make camp, I couldn't help but groan in relief, causing Murtagh to smirk at me, and Eragon to carry on obliviously. Saphira and Eris had found a sheltered dip between some bluffs, and had already settled down to wait for us.

I wasted no time in taking care of Cadoc's saddle-marks and feet before picketing him off to one side and practically rushing Eris and hugging her snout. She hummed happily. We had never spent any significant time apart before, and even though we had chatted a bit while we traveled, my lovely bondmate was too far away for us to do so most of the time, choosing to explore the skies with Saphira. I had missed her quiet and often sarcastic presence in my mind.

Ah, Saphira. Eris had much to tell me about her. Much of what they had talked about were dragon secrets, of course, so those conversations weren't relayed to me, but most everything else was. The first thing that both Eris and I took note of was the other dragon's extraordinary flying. Dragon pride still alive and well, it made Eris squirm to admit it: but Saphira was _good_. Really good. She had shown off for her new friend a bit, and Eris was very impressed (More so than she was willing to admit, anyway.) with the flexibility and technical skill Saphira displayed when she flew.

"_I cannot hope to match the way she flies," _Eris confided in me as I stroked her nose. _"She would have been considered a prodigy in the time of the dragon riders."_

"_You're faster,"_ I pointed out. _"You might not be able to pull off any fancy moves without a bit of practice, but you're much faster than Saphira is in a straight flight."_

That made Eris feel a little better, but she still shooed me away with orders to make myself useful.

Turning away from my humming bondmate, I set about helping Eragon make a fire pit by clearing away the brush while Murtagh took care of both Tornac and Snowfire. Faster than you can say 'idiot', we were done, and I graciously lit the fire with a quick burst of magic as the five of us encircled ourselves around its warmth.

My use of magic immediately caught Eragon's attention. "You can do magic?" he burst out excitedly.

I nodded slowly. "Yes," I said.

If Christmas had come a day early, the young man's face couldn't have been brighter. "Will you teach me?"

That right there gave me pause. My reflexive response would have been to tell him yes, but a string of nagging doubts soon assailed me. Magic wasn't something to play around with. At all. Playing with magic was the equivalent of handing a tank of propane and a box of matches to a four-year-old. Or entering _me _ into a Chemistry course. (I earned the nickname Sparky within the first week of my freshman course. And believe me when I say I _earned_ it.) If you were smart, you _didn't_ do it. Or if you _weren't _smart, you did it _once_. Just once. I knew Eragon knew this, and I knew he knew I knew it. I just didn't know if I was actually capable of teaching someone else something that was so dangerous. Hell, every time _I_ used magic I was wary, and I had 'Magic for Dummies' imprinted into my head!

"I… I don't think I can do it, Eragon," I admitted, looking him straight in the eyes and pushing a stray curl out of my face in agitation. "I know you're capable, but I'm not sure _I_ am. I'm not a teacher, and I'd be more likely than not to get you killed."

A small frown curled down Eragon's lips, and I could see the stubbornness flash across his face. "Yes you can," he protested. "You know magic. So you can tell me what you know."

In response, I just shook my head vehemently, acutely aware of Saphira staring at me from across the camp circle. "No," I decided. "You know what you need to, for now. You have teachers waiting for you among the elves."

Eragon jolted in surprise. "Really?" he asked.

I nodded, and Murtagh recognized the warning signs of an extensive question-and-answer session and immediately extracted himself from the circle by way of preparing a stew. I rolled my eyes at him, but faithfully answered Eragon. "It was an agreement made between the elves and the Varden when Saphira's egg was first stolen," I explained. "Both a human teacher, which was Brom, and an elven teacher would mentor you. Your elven teacher is waiting for you, to continue where Brom left off. Teaching you is not my place. You will learn soon enough."

Eragon pursed his lips, clearly unhappy, but I shot him a glance that clearly indicated that the conversation was over. I wasn't sure who was more surprised that he actually dropped the subject: myself, Murtagh, or Eragon. Eris didn't care.

When I was little, my daddy used to take me camping along with a bunch of other girls. We would laugh and roast marshmellows, and tell ghost stories long into the night while we braided each other's hair and threw handfuls of pine needles in mock wars. Camping with two men and two dragons wasn't really as fun, to be honest. I think it was because we didn't have any marshmellows, but I couldn't be sure.

Regardless, we still did tell stories. They weren't ghost stories though. They were happy ones, from youth, that each of us decided to share. Saphira told of her first flight. Eragon told of a prank he had once pulled on his cousin. Murtagh told of riding with his mother on her horse. Eris told of a lynx she had once caught. I told of singing in a children's choir. It was good fun, although sugar would have made it better. Murtagh's stew was utterly abysmal.

A food coma consumed us for a while, until I couldn't take the boredom and rose to my feet. "Murtagh," I began cheerily. "Spar with me!" I drew Wyrda.

Murtagh stared at me as if I had two heads. "With true blades? Are you insane, Astoria?" he burst out. At my answering grin, he scowled and shook his head. "Don't answer that. Rhetorical question," he sighed.

Laughing, I stuck out my hand. "Your sword?"

This time, Murtagh looked at me like I was stupid.

"I'll do it," Eragon offered.

"You can't spar with those ribs," the older man scoffed.

Eragon grimaced, but gave his best mysterious smile (which, in all honesty, was pretty pathetic) and held out his hand for Murtagh's sword. With a heavy sigh, Murtagh did as requested, and Eragon set about blocking the edge of his blade while I did the same for Wyrda.

In no time, Murtagh and I were dancing around each other to the music of clanking metal. Now, sparring with an actual opponent was worlds away from practicing alone.

For one, Murtagh was quite a bit more likely to hit back than was the tree stump.

For me, having the knowledge of _how_ to fight and the skills to do it didn't equate to the action itself. Asking me to spar with Murtagh… it was like taking a person who had only ever been running on an elliptical and asking them to run a hiking trail up a mountain. Difficult, and highly frustrating. To my credit, I lasted a fair while against my opponent, as my technical skill was excellent, but I still lost.

I was keeping up, blow for blow, right until the moment that, with a well-coordinated kick, Murtagh swept my legs from beneath me and I landed in a rather undignified heap with an 'oof''. He definitely took me by surprise with that one. He pressed the dull point of his sword to my neck to prove his point, before sheathing it again and, graciously, the man helped me back to my feet and shook my hand for a good spar while the dragons and Eragon hummed (and clapped, respectively) their appreciation of the spectacle. "You're much better than my last sparring partner," I complemented with a shit-eating grin.

For a moment, Murtagh appeared rather pleased with himself.

That is, until Eris chimed in. _"Don't flatter yourself too much,"_ she sniffed, broadcasting to all of us. _"Her last sparring partner was a tree stump."_

We all laughed then. Except Murtagh, of course. Murtagh just scowled, not that that was a new expression for him.

* * *

I awoke with a start, immediately brushing away a few stray tears that had leaked from between my eyelashes. Through a gap in the coverage of Eris's wing, I could see that the sun was only just barely beginning to peek over the horizon. It had been quite a while since I dreamed about my death, this perhaps being the reason why this time, it had upset me so. Glad to know that my subconscious was making quite sure I wouldn't ever forget the experience.

"_The dream again, love?" _Eris questioned me. I hadn't realized that she was awake.

"_Yes." _With a sigh, I sat up and leaned against her warm, scaly side before closing my eyes again. Sometimes, it just felt nice to lose myself in her mind –to feel her steady heartbeat as if it were my own. This is what I did now. It was now day two. Eris had been doing a lot of thinking this past day. More so than I had, at any rate. In all fairness, she had spoken less as well, but it wasn't because she didn't have a lot to say. Rather, she let everyone else say it so that she didn't have to, while thinking everything that happened over thoroughly. It was just how she was. If I didn't pick up on her thoughts from our bond, I was fairly certain I would simply stop functioning properly. What with my habit of doing before thinking, it was by no means a hyperbolic prediction.

"_Are we doing the right thing?"_ I asked her. _"Meddling, as we are?"_ It seemed that the five of us were getting alone just fine, but our whole situation worried me.

Eris thought about it. _"What's done is done,"_ she finally told me in her melodic mental voice. _"We had a choice between watching and doing, and we chose to do. It's a gamble, but it's also a good bet."_

"_I love you."_

"_And I you, partner-of-my-heart."_

Pep-talk accomplished, I crawled out into the chill of the morning. Both Eragon and Murtagh were still asleep, curled up on their bedrolls. Saphira was awake, and I greeted her politely before unashamedly stealing some bread from one of the boys' travel packs (I wasn't sure which.) and munching on it. It was a quiet, still morning. The kind of morning that makes you feel like the whole world is under a spell of silence that is just waiting to shatter.

Predictably, I was the one to shatter it.

Caught up in the peace of the moment, I made a rather idiotic mistake. In order to watch the sunrise, I had to face away from the area where the horses were picketed. I also made the mistake of standing close enough for Tornac to reach me. The ear-splitting shriek that I let loose when the damned animal bit me on the ass woke the remainder of the party up quite violently, and set the tone for a rather exciting next few days.

Hell. Screaming set the tone for my whole _life_, if we're gonna get into details. But then again, that's all part of the joy of being me.

* * *

_A/N: -An Author's Haiku-_

**_Four words never said  
In polite conversation:  
'I got no reviews'_**

_Don't be that person who makes me say those four words. Just think; your mother would be _so_ disappointed in you! You make a pretty girl cry! Soooo review! Then there's no troubles and life is the bubbles. :)_


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